


Red as Wine

by bonzai_bunny



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-28
Updated: 2012-06-28
Packaged: 2017-11-08 18:11:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/446020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bonzai_bunny/pseuds/bonzai_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He first had thought Rome was a ghost, hovering over his bed, oddly pale in the moonlight. Rome/ adult France. No shota, completely consensual. Kink meme de-anon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red as Wine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't own Hetalia. I love this pairing, omg. I have this whole AU I want to write around this pairing (that I call Romance), but this is just a kink meme fill with the prompt of scars. Hope you enjoy. C:

He first had thought Rome was a ghost, hovering over his bed, oddly pale in the moonlight (in a way, he was, wasn't he?), but France knew that he could no longer see ghosts, so this had to be a figment of his imagination. It was just a dream he thought, sleepily and languidly, and smiled up at the Roman Empire with a sort of fondness from his cozy cove of sheets. He hadn't dreamt of the man in a very long time.

But Rome had moved forward with a sort of amazement and asked, "Gallia?" before gently touching the side of his face.

At this France shivered and leaned into the touch like he would have as a child and realized suddenly that he would have never been able to dream the distinct earthen smell of the man, nor be able to feel the calluses as they swept across his cheek.

"Grandfather?"

It was like neither of them could believe it for a moment, then France sat up, somehow breaking the ties of illusion and focusing that dream world into reality. Rome was really there, the thought struck, in France's bedroom, _in the 21st century_. But as France sat up, the covers of his bed fell away to reveal most of his completely naked body and, well, France certainly didn't remember Rome looking at him that way before.

"Gallia, how have you been!" Rome gushed in Latin, coming forward to wrap his arms around France's shoulders (and goodness, France didn't realize he had missed the smell of the man so much—this was still all so shocking).

"You've grown so much!" 

France found himself smiling into the other's warm embrace. Yes, this was Rome, there was no mistaking it.

"I've been as well as a nation can possibly be," he answered back smoothly in Latin, surprising himself with how much he remembered of it.

"And what are you doing here anyway . . . ?" Rome laughed, releasing his arms from around his former charge, and sat down on the bed beside him.

"Well, you see, sometimes the big guy in the sky lets me come down here to see my grandsons, but I thought I would visit you instead because I haven't seen you in so long."

France wasn't quite sure how to handle the admission and all of the implications that went with it (especially about theology, goodness!), but he smiled cordially and put his hand over top Rome's.

"Well, it is lovely to see you again. Can I get you something to drink? Wine, perhaps?"

Rome's face lit up with a grin. "You remember me well!"

France took that as a yes, so he stood and went to his closet to fetch a robe and pretended not to notice Rome's burning gaze sliding up his back. He assumed it was more out of habit than anything and didn't know that Rome was admiring his grown body, in slight awe of his muscle, enjoying the sight of his rump and the smooth curve of his thighs.

When he came back, he held two wine glasses in one hand and a bottle of wine in another. Rome seemed slightly surprised when France apologized,

"I'm sorry I'm not opening a new bottle, but I opened this one earlier this week and I don't want to waste it…"

"It's fine!" Rome laughed, "Wine is wine!"

France made a sour face at this, but didn't comment. Instead, he sat down and poured himself and Rome a glass. France did notice, however, when he crossed his legs and his robe fell open a little, Rome briefly followed the motion, his eyes sweeping over the line of France's long legs. And well, that was more than just a little interesting.

"So how have you been?"

"I've been as good as a dead man can be," he shrugged. "Heaven is beautiful but its perfection. . . . leads something to be desired."

France smiled and took a sip of his wine, "Ah, like the sins of this Earth?"

Rome gave him a look he couldn't interpret but it was quickly masked with a grin and a raise of his glass. "Exactly."

As they drank more and more and the conversation lulled a bit, France somehow found himself leaning against Rome's strong shoulders as Rome absent mindedly combed through his hair. His cheeks had reddened slightly with the alcohol and, silly with nostalgia for the older man (too much wine had always made him maudlin), he said softly,

"I've really missed you Rome."

Rome nudged his nose against the top of France's head and sighed, "I've missed you too, Gallia."

"You know they don't call me Gallia anymore? I'm France, now."

"France," Rome repeated, trying the name out on his tongue. It felt foreign to him, but he didn't mind so much.

"Yes, and I have my own language too. It's, well, it's a little based off of yours."

"Really? Say something to me in it." France paused for a moment, before craning his neck to look at the other and saying,

"Tu es très beau." It was probably the alcohol that made him say that, but it was what he thought and there was no denying that. He had always had something of a crush on the older man, and seeing him now, at this time, and feeling the heat of his skin, it did something to France's belly that he couldn't blame on the wine.

"Hmm . . . I think I like it. What does that mean?"

France for a moment, considered lying, but decided against it and said, "I said you are very handsome."

Rome smiled, surprised. "Oh. Thank you….you've also grown into someone very handsome."

France felt like beaming at the other like his childhood self would've. But he didn't. Instead, he just slid deeper into Rome's embrace and decided that his cheeks felt so warm because of the alcohol. For some reason, his mind decided that the only remedy to this was more wine so, carefully, he poured himself another glass. When he had taken a gulp (goodness, he really was getting a little tipsy), he murmured,

"Does it get lonely . . . in heaven, I mean?"

Rome shifted and sighed behind him. "A little. I have some of the other nations with me, like Germania, but I miss my grandsons, my other provinces . . . you."

France shivered when he felt Rome's hand slid around his waist and when the other asked,

"So how are you now, seriously?" France shrugged, not entirely sure what the correct answer was.

"I don't know, Rome. So many things have changed since you left. The world is unbelievably  _big_  now, and tiny at the same time. It's . . . different."

"You aren't in any wars, are you?" The other's voice was concerned.

"No, no, I have not been in total war in a long time. War is . . . well, war has always been terrible, but it is so much worse now, it's hard to imagine, let alone describe."

Rome seemed to let this sink in before asking, "If you aren't fighting wars right now, I assume that you aren't trying to gain any new territory."

France laughed at this and the sound of his laughter made Rome want to pull him closer. "No, I am not gaining any new territory. That is very impossible, and would be suicidal to try in this day. Europe is full; there is nowhere that someone doesn't own."

France put his hand over the hand creeping over his midsection and nuzzled Rome's neck affectionately. He didn't even realize he was doing it; the other was just comfortable to touch and so familiar, like an old friend.

"I used to try that. Once upon a time, I was huge, even bigger than you were Rome. But you know those things do not last and the way of the empire is an old one."

"If there are no empires, then who is the strongest right now of the nations?"

"A young nation across the Atlantic. He's, well, he reminds me a little bit of you sometimes. Brash, always ready for action, strong. He practically worships democracy."

Rome's arm tightened around his waist and France was about to wonder why, when Rome asked,

"Have you slept with this nation?"

Oh. That was unexpected and yet not that surprising all the same. Soothingly, France responded,

"A few times. I have slept with plenty of nations over the years," And then seeing the other's aghast expression, he chuckled and added, "This can't come as a surprise Rome. I'm old now."

". . . Yes," the other admitted begrudgingly, "I suppose you aren't the little boy I left behind. You've grown a lot. You're . . . even more beautiful."

France felt his face heat up at the compliment and it was obvious now what they both wanted, the way they had tangled together, so France was hardly surprised when he felt Rome's nose nudge against his neck and that hand slide oh-so-teasingly onto his thigh. Even though it had been welling up, the desire seemed sudden like a strike of a match that they both felt.

"Gal—France, I…this— " Before Rome could continue, France twisted around in Rome's embrace to press a full kiss on the man's lips. When Rome didn't pull away, France quickly straddled the other and felt his bare thighs grow hot, pressed against Rome's muscle. He had always wanted to kiss the man in such a way, and savored the other's taste. Rome hummed and his hands went to France's lower back, stroking, encouraging as he pressed his tongue against the crevice of France's lips and France opened his mouth readily, eagerly accepting the other.

"Rome!" He gasped when he felt the other squeeze his bottom with his large hands and Rome looked up, strangely hesitant.

"This is . . . alright? It's not strange or anything since I'm your—" France hushed the other with lingering kisses.

"This is wonderful, Rome. We're both adults now; there's no shame here. I want this." France undid the ties of his robe and let it fall back, leaving him completely bare in the moonlight. Rome stared, the obvious beginnings of lust perched in his eyes, and he put his hands on France's hips, his thumbs rubbing circles on his skin. Rome seemed to make his decision then and there and wrapped his arms around France's neck to pull him back down for another smothering kiss.

Rome's hands seemed so hot as they rubbed up and down his sides and when France's bottom was squeezed again, France definitely felt some of that heat pool in his cock. Rome's hands crept up his bare lower back, then they paused and Rome broke the kiss, confused.

"This scar," his thumbs traced the raised, knotted surface for emphasis, "What's it from?"

France sighed, preferring not to think of such history at such a delicate moment. "The hundred years' war," he answered with no explanation.

"It's a nasty scar. Does this hurt?"

"Not anymore. And it was a nasty war," he half-shrugged, trying to be as casual as he could about a time that was so devastating to his population. He didn't want Rome to worry; the other had plenty of scars on his own. Rome seemed to sense this and left it alone, but when France had tumbled on the bed, Rome following after with a barrage of kisses down his throat, Rome paused at another scar, a line above his collar bone practically circling around his neck.

"My revolution," he answered, already predicting the question. He didn't see why it seemed to cause so much worry with the other. These were old scars after all. Rome kissed another scar, directly over his heart and France had to stifle the sudden emotion that ran through him, because that one had never quite healed.

"World War Two," he said, not wanting to elaborate, not wanting to say that he could still smell the gunfire, smoke, and blood sometimes.

"World war . . . ?" Rome asked, puzzled, at the concept, and then it occurred to him,

" _Two?_ "

France couldn't help to chuckle at the reaction and ran a hand affectionately through the other's hair,

"Things have changed a lot since you left, Rome."

Rome gave his body a once-over, eyes trailing from his hardened nipples to his slightly hard cock and smiled,

"They have indeed."

France gasped as the other attacked his stomach with more fervor, apparently determined to kiss him entirely red. He kissed over a few more scars but didn't seem to pay that much attention to them and France arched off the bed when he felt Rome's hand wrap around him.

"Rome!"

The other looked up with a smirk and France found that he could hardly stand it anymore. It had started as a simmer and now there was a full on fire in his veins, and he groaned when Rome began to stroke him.

"Rome….please," he gasped, not quite sure what he was asking for, but Rome looked up at him, at his flush body, his slightly spread legs, his cobalt eyes dark with lust, and Rome asked,

"Do you have anything we can use . . .?"

France nodded and twisted around to grab a bottle of lube from atop his night stand. Rome watched with eager eyes as France squeezed it on his fingers and brought his legs up to reveal his entrance. Rome felt his cock throb when France pressed a finger in, arching his back, looking so lovely.

France's cheeks brightened, his breathing became heavier, as he pushed another finger in, followed by another, anticipating Rome inside of him.

Rome finally undid the ties of his toga, leaving him naked and baring all of his scars. He took the bottle of lubricant from beside the other and slicked up his cock, never taking his eyes off of France's actions. Then, Rome and France locked eyes and the former had such an expression of feral want, France shivered, reminded of the once bloodthirsty empire. He had no idea why that thought made him more aroused.

Feeling like he had prepared enough he told Rome,

"I'm ready," in a breathy tone of voice. Rome nodded and lifted France's legs to his hips and he pressed in, France lolling his head to the side with a moan. When he had slid all the way in, slowly, France tried to hold onto the bed sheets to not lose himself, but it seem impossible; he imagined he could feel the other's heartbeat.

"This okay?" Rome asked, his voice coated with an aroused edge that made France feel like he'd go crazy with desire. Rome seemed to understand that and kissed France's knee before pulling out and pushing back it and France groaned, arching his back in pleasure.

The other slowly worked up a rhythm, slow to press forward and pull out and it was driving France senseless, every slow graze against his prostate. Pleasure was building up in him, but it felt like he would never come, the other was being so cautious. He told the other he wasn't a delicate maiden anymore and could take anything the other had to offer. That got the other's attention. He nodded wordlessly before pulling out and slamming back in, causing France to arch off the bed with a moan.

That was exactly what he needed and France continued voicing his pleasure, occasionally spilling out moans in his own language which made Rome thrust into him harder and harder until they both came.

Sweaty and exhausted, France lay beside the other, his head resting on Rome's chest, hearing his heartbeat as he idly traced over the man's scars. It was such an affirmation of life and death and everything that Rome had gone through that France whispered,

"I don't want you to go Rome." It wouldn't be as painful as the first time, seeing the other slowly dissolve through his scars, but that didn't mean he wanted to see this person whom he cared about deeply disappear again. Rome sighed and brushed a strand of hair away from France's face.

"I know. I don't want to go either, but you know my time has passed."

France nodded against the other's skin, not trusting himself to speak because of the sudden tightening feeling in his throat.

"I'll come back again, I promise."

And after that, they spent the night mostly in silence, occasionally trading soft kisses, until France fell asleep in the other's arms somewhere near dawn. When he awoke to the bright light streaming through his windows and the emptiness of his bed, France wondered if the whole thing had been a dream.

That is until he saw the empty wine glasses and bottle on the floor and picked them up, sitting on his bed with a sad sigh. He pondered if the other was looking over him in heaven now. He wondered how soon Rome would come back. France ignored the tears welling up in his eyes and told himself that it would be fine. If he could wait for him over a thousand years, then he could certainly wait to see Rome one more time.


End file.
